


Meet the Pitchiners

by nowordswriter (eloquentelegance)



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M, all of them - Freeform, life ruiners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloquentelegance/pseuds/nowordswriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kozmotis is a single father to Jack Frost-Pitchiner. A single father who finds out his son has an online relationship with an Australian twelve years his senior. And then said Australian comes to visit. As the cliché says, Hilarity Ensues.</p><p>Includes one almost fight scene, gratuitous parental affections, Pitch being British in a cravat, Bunnymund being manly, Bunnymund not being so manly, Jack being a teenager, Jack being a horny teenager, long distance relationships, use of the slur 'pommie bastard', a case of child neglect, and Katherine being the only sane one of them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"He's here! He's here! He's finally here!" Jack cheers, swinging in through the window. He lands on his bed with a bounce, jostling his sister in the process.

His sister shoots him an unamused look.

"My bad, Kit-kat." Jack grins sheepishly.

Katherine, affectionately nicknamed Kit-kat, simply rolls her eyes. She closes her book. "It's quite alright. I don't expect to be reading anymore any time soon. Not with you flying about."

"Aww, sorry. I just, you know!" Jack flails his arms.

"No, I'm afraid I don't." Katherine smiles coyly.

"Oh c'mon, sis! You know I've been planning this for months. We've been planning this for months. And now he's finally here!" Jack falls back on his bed with a pleased sigh.

Katherine watches him with great affection. "He makes you happy."

Jack reddens, smirking wryly at her. "Am I that obvious?"

"Oh brother, I do think even the moon can see your smile."

The sound of a car door slamming reaches their ears. Jack sits up and crawls over to the window. Katherine follows, pressing up against his shoulders. Outside, a dusty, scratch-ridden jeep rests parked before their house. A man has stepped out of it. He's tall, tanned and sporting an impressive set of sideburns. He wears cargo shorts and a pouched vest with an ill-fitting shirt perhaps two sizes too small. He stretches his arms and the siblings stare, in blatant fascination, as his muscles bulge.

"Well, he's a sight for sore eyes." Katherine comments.

Jack scowls. "Lay off, sis."

"I meant that sincerely."

"Yeah, okay. I guess he's kinda hot?"

"It's just..."

Jack glances over at Katherine and bites back a groan. She is wearing her 'concerned' expression, saved specifically for the split second before Jack crashes and burns.

"What is it, Kit-kat?"

"He seems to be an older gentleman. Does Father know about this?"

"Uh..." Jack swallows, pointedly looking away from her.

Katherine sighs, squeezing her eyes shut. "Jack..."

"Look, if I told Pitch, then he would've never agreed to let me meet him! You know how he is!"

"I do! Hence, my concern! He will be frightfully angry at your deceit."

"I didn't lie to him! I told him I was going to meet a friend from the internet. I told him we've known each other for years. None of that was a lie."

"Neither was it the complete truth." Katherine woefully shakes her head. "Oh, Jack..."

"Look, I can handle it, I promise. It'll be fun, you'll see." Jack grins, utterly unabashed.

"Did you at least tell him you two are involved in a relationship?"

Jack's grin is wiped clean off. "Uh..."

"Jack!"

"It'll be fine! It'll be fine! I swear!"

The doorbell rings downstairs.

"That'll be him. I better answer that before Pitch does." Jack leaps to his feet, rushing out the room.

Katherine watches him leave, sighing in acute exasperation. "This will end in tears, if not blood."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a boyfriend and Pitch finds out

Jack slid down the banister only to find his worst fears confirmed. There stands Pitch with the front door wide open.

"Hmmm, I was not aware the landscapers came on Sundays." Kozmotis Pitchiner muses. 

Jack likes to call him 'Pitch', partly because it's less of a mouthful, mostly because it annoys the ever living shit out of him. It's a memento from their early days, when Jack was unceremoniously dropped into Pitch's lap by his father. They hated each other then, couldn't do anything but trade cruel barbs and snarky insults. They've moved past that now to something resembling peace, perhaps even honest affection. 

"Uh, I'm not your gardener, mate." The man splutters out a laugh. "I'm here for Jack. Jack Frost? He does live here, right?"

There's a pause and Jack just knows Pitch is narrowing his eyes, sizing up the man before him. He always does it whenever someone mentions him or his sister. Like he was planning where exactly he'd stick the knife in you.

Pitch clears his throat. "And pray tell, what business do you have with my son?" 

Jack thinks it time to intervene. He dashes up to Pitch and grabs a hold of his arm. "Uh, hey Pitch! Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Address me as Papa, Jack. Must I remind you every time?" Pitch huffs, turning to face the boy. 

This was another left over from their spat-filled days. And then somewhere along the way, it became an honest entreaty. Neither Jack or Pitch knew how that happened. They suspect Katherine was involved. Katherine was always involved.

Pitch nods towards their guest. "Do you know this gentleman?"

"Actually, yeah." Jack swallows, eyes flitting to the man. He gives a small, deprecating wave. "Hey, Buns."

The man tips his head forward, smirking. "'Ey yourself."

And damn, if smoke could have a voice, Jack would bet his inheritance, it would sound just like that. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, feeling unusually warm.

"Explain, Jack." Pitch demands with all the softness of a viper's hiss.

Jack laughs nervously. But the man takes it off his hands.

"E. Aster Bunnymund, at your service." He announces with a shallow, jaunty bow.

Pitch looks like he bit something inordinately sour. "So, I see. I am Kozmotis Pitchiner, COO of the Constellation Corporation. I assume you've heard of me?"

"'Fraid not. Don't read up on the times, you know?" Bunnymund offers his hand. "Still it's a pleasure to meet ya, Pitchiner."

If Jack could, he'd smack Bunnymund on the head. Then, he'd go back in time and smack his past self on the head too, for ever thinking meeting at his house was a good idea. 

"Yes..." Pitch stares at the hand the way one would stare at a sewer rat. He crosses his arms instead. "This is indeed a... pleasant surprise."

Bunnymund seems to visibly deflate, retracting his hand. "Surprise? Uh, you mean Jackie didn't tell you?"

"Jackie?" Pitch raises his brows.

Jack stiffens and resumes tugging on Pitch's arms. "Can we talk in the kitchen? Like now? Please?!"

"I do believe we shall." Pitch hums in thought. He sweeps around, his black robe billowing out behind him. "Come along now, Jack."

Jack only watches him stalk away before turning to Bunnymund. He claps his hands together in a parody of a prayer. "I am really sorry about this. You don't mind waiting for a bit, do you?"

"Don't worry about it, Frostbite." Bunnymund chuckles, scratching at his throat. "Say, is your Da wearin' a dress?"

"It's a robe, okay? Like, you know, a bathrobe?"

"Yeah? He was wearin' one o' those fancy, frilly things too."

"You mean a cravat?"

"That, yeah. He looks just like those rich guys, you know the ones in sitcoms? All he needs is a pipe."

Jack snickers. "Well, he doesn't usually smoke on Sundays."

"Seriously?" Bunnymund blinks, a grin tugging in the corners of his mouth. Oh hell, he has dimples. "Your Da is somethin' else."

"Tell me about it."

"Jack? Are you coming?" Pitch calls from the kitchen.

"I am!" Jack yells back before flashing Bunnymund a smile. "I gotta go explain a few things. I'll be right back, okay?"

"I'll be waitin'." Bunnymund nods, leaning against the doorframe. "Nice seein' you, Jack."

"Nice seein' your ass. I mean -ter! I mean fuck." Jack buries his face in his hands and turns around, walking away. "I'm just gonna go now."

He hears Bunnymund break out laughing behind him and pretends his ears aren't turning a vibrant red. 

"Your ass ain't half bad either, Frostbite!" Bunnymund calls after him.

Jack just flips him the finger.

As if Jack ever needed confirmation that he is a healthy, teenaged male with a perfectly functioning libido. He heaves a deep sigh, sliding his face from his palms. He pushes away all thoughts of E. Aster Bunnymund, a feat that demands a medal, and enters the kitchen. He finds Pitch standing by the sink, arms still crossed and frown that resembled a scar on his face. Jack breathes in, then out, centering himself. And here they go.

"So! Remember that internet friend I was telling you about?" He inquires by way of greeting. "Funny story that."

Pitch doesn't move, still as a statue or a puma in the pulse before it pounced. "I am to presume Mr. Rabbitman is the friend you speak of."

It isn't a question. Jack answers it anyways. "It's Bunnymund, Pitch. And yeah, he is."

"You never mentioned he was..."

"Older?"

"I was going to say experienced."

"Well, I mean, that too." Jack smirks with something a little - lot - less than innocent."

Pitch glares, not humored in the least.

Jack backpedals, waving his hands near violently before him. "Worldly experience! Worldly! I mean, he's been everywhere. He's traveled all around the world."

"So have I." Pitch sniffs unimpressed.

"Going to foreign countries in the company jet does not count." Jack deadpans. "I'm talking about real travel here. You know, the kind with adventures and thrills and risks of injury? I'm telling you, he's all kinds of badass. He's a master of Tai Chi. He's climbed Mount Everest. He's visited the Marianna Trench. That's underwater, by the way. He's been literally everywhere!"

There's a moment of silence as Pitch tilts his head, studying Jack with a narrowed gaze. Jack tries not to fidget as Pitch examines every inch of his face. It takes all of a second before Pitch makes any visible reaction. His eyes widen, a hand rises to his lips. Whatever he was looking for, he found it.

"You are infatuated with him." Again, it was less of a question and more of an accusation.

Jack rubs the nape of his neck, abruptly finding the floor very interesting. "Uh, guess so."

"And this Rabbitman - !"

"Bunnymund."

" - he returns your affections?"

"Well, yeah. See, we're kinda... kinda..."

"What? What! Spit it out, boy!"

Jack snaps his head up. "We're dating! There! I said it!"

Pitch blinks, jaw falling open.

"We're dating, okay? I do like him, maybe even a lot. And I think he likes me back. I mean, you don't cross the entire country to meet with someone you hate, right? It's pretty official at this point, really."

"You are involved with him?" Pitch cuts through his rants.

He scowls. "You make it sound like we're having an affair."

"Are you not? I never gave you my blessing."

"Oh for crying out loud! This isn't the 19th century, you prick! People date all the time without running to their parents for permission."

"That may be how it works in their houses but certainly not in mine. As long as you live under my roof, you will obey my rules. And I forbid you to date anyone without my explicit authorization!"

"Then maybe I'll run away! Maybe I'll leave this shit house and shack up with my boyfriend!"

Pitch opens his mouth as if to say something but quickly shuts it once more. He purses his lips and begins to pace. Jack doesn't think it a good sign.

"You honestly like this Rabbit fellow?" He finally asks, not even glancing at him.

"It's Bunnymund." Jack corrects, absentmindedly. He stares at Pitch with wary suspicion. "And yeah, I do. We've known each other for a couple years now. He's a good guy. I like him."

Pitch halts his pacing and turns to look Jack in the eye. He almost seems to loom over him, standing to his full height. Jack wets his lips, waiting for the proverbial guillotine to fall.

"Very well." Pitch announces simply. "You may go on your little date."

Jack blinks, looking like he was just slapped with a dead fish. "What?"

"That is what he's here for, is it not? To spend a pleasant afternoon enjoying each other's company?" Pitch asks, suddenly pre-occupied with his robe, untying and re-tying it. He even smooths back his hair and fixes his cravat. "I give you leave to go on your little 'date' or whatever it is couples do."

Pitch takes a moment to process his last sentence, thinking about everything couples do. He shudders and nearly chokes himself with his cravat.

Jack stops breathing, or he almost does. "Are you for real?"

"I'd like to think I am." Pitch replies primly, brushing nonexistent lint off his shoulders.

"You're letting me go? With Bunnymund? On a date?!"

Pitch wearily shoots him a flat glare. "Must I repeat myself?"

Jack doesn't quite squeal, as he didn't have the vocal range to reach that high a note. But he makes an admirable attempt, laughing with great abandon as he jumps about the kitchen. Then, with hardly a warning, he leaps at Pitch and gathers him in a hug.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" He babbles into Pitch's chest.

"Get off me, you imp!" Pitch scolds, awkwardly pushing Jack away. "You're wrinkling my robe!"

"Sorry." Jack grins, not looking very sorry at all. He allows himself to be detached from Pitch's person, all but vibrating happiness. "It's just - I never - Thank you!"

Pitch rolls his eyes. "You had better start moving. I don't believe you are properly prepared for a date."

Jack looks down at his attire. He realizes he's still wearing pajama pants. "Oh yeah, huh. I guess I better go change." 

"Yes, yes. Go on then." Pitch makes a shooing motion with his hands.

Jack beams at him before running for the door. He pauses just as he crosses the doorway, looking back at Pitch. His smile is shyer this time. "Thanks, again. It really means a lot to me."

Pitch's expression wipes a curious blank before a strained smile worms across his lips. "You are most welcome, Jack."

Jack breaks into another fit of laughter before he finally leaves. He heads up the stairs, taking two - three steps at a time. In his rush, he completely misses the glint in Pitch's eye, his smile showing too much teeth and baring them like fangs. He completely misses as Pitch straightens his robe once more, looking for all the world like a man ready for war. And Jack completely misses Pitch head for the front door, where Bunnymund stood patiently waiting.

It does not escape Katherine's notice. She sees her brother bound back into the room, giddy with happiness, but curiously unaccompanied by his new boyfriend.

"Oh, Jack! What happened?" Katherine asks, closing her book once more. "And where is the boyfriend I've heard so much about?"

Jack all but hops into his closet, shutting the shuttered door behind him as begins to change his clothes. "Oh, he's still downstairs. I told him to wait while I go explain to Pitch. And guess what? He totally gave me permission. I'm going on the date, Kit-kat! I'm finally going out with Aster!"

But Katherine frowns, her mind affixed on one key detail. "But Jack, you said Aster is still downstairs?"

"Yeah? What about it?"

"You mean to say you left him down there, alone, with Father?"

There's a beat silence before a muffled thunk sounds from deep within the closet. Unintelligible words follow before Jack pops his head out. He and Katherine share a look.

"Oh, fuck me." Jack squeezes his eyes shut.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bunnymund meets Pitchiner.

E. Aster Bunnymund sits on the doorstep, idly whittling away at a block of wood. The vague shape of an egg emerges from the careful strokes of his switchblade. He'll probably paint it later, make it a nice present. Jackie has a sister. He could give it to her.

"Ahem."

Aster yelps, the knife jolting in his hand and nicking his forefinger. He hisses and flicks the blade shut, pocketing it and the egg. Shoving the bleeding finger in his mouth, he whips around, an insult on the tip of his tongue - only to choke it back down.

Jack's Da looms over him, looking decidedly unimpressed. Pitchiner, that's his name. Some Wall Street bloke, not that Aster would really know. He's not into that kinda stuff, more a National Geographic guy. He lives in a completely different world from this Kozmotis Pitchiner. It's hard to believe they could occupy the same space without the universe imploding. But here they are.

Aster rises to his feet, slipping his finger from his mouth with an obscene pop. He winces, wiping the spit-covered appendage on his shorts. Pitchiner's face resembles curdled milk.

"So, uh, g'day." Aster offers.

"It is." Pitchiner allows.

"I 'spose Jackie told ya' everythin'." 

"He did."

"So... Great. We're all cleared then?"

Pitchiner remains silent, lips pursed and eyes narrowed to razor slits. He doesn't twitch. He doesn't blink. Aster thinks he doesn't even breath. Still as a graveyard, he is. But his incessant stare pricks at Aster with the intensity of a thousand needles. Aster swallows, sweat beading on his brow.

"We - We alright, mate?" He asks again.

Pitchiner plasters a sickly sweet smile. "Of course! Why wouldn't we be?"

"Uh..." Aster could think of a few things, namely a certain white-blond boy.

"Oh, forgive my manners. Would you like to come inside?"

"Well, sure. Thought you'd never ask." 

"Nonsense. I am an excellent host." Pitchiner steps aside and, with a wave arm, invites him in.

Aster attempts a grin but it twists to a grimace. A chill crawls up and down his spine, a touch of fear skittering on tiny spider-feet. He walks in with a jaunty step.

"Nice digs." He wolf whistles. There is finery everywhere he looks, nothing but onyx and obsidian and pitch black marble.

"Why, thank you." Pitchiner murmurs, shutting the door with a resounding click.

Instinct and suspicion clamor together in a frightening shriek. Aster squashes the urge to flee. He mostly succeeds.

Then Pitchiner appears at his elbow, as if melting from the shadows. Now, Aster has trained in five different kinds of martial arts. He has mastered Tai Chi. He has earned a will of iron and a discipline of steel. And it takes every ounce of self control not to jump out his fucking skin. Pitchiner is quiet. And fast. Never a good combination that.

"Woah! Gimme a heart attack, why dontcha?" Aster blurts, clutching his chest.

"Hmmm, yes." Pitchiner murmurs and there's honest contemplation in his wry, little smile. "But I am an excellent host. It would not do to have my guests perish."

"Yea..." Aster chuckles dryly.

"Would you like a seat?" Pitchiner inquires.

Aster blinks and finds they are in some sort of living room. There are armchairs and sofas a plenty, all laid on an intricately woven Persian rug. Aster wonders how they got here. He doesn't recall walking.

"Uh, don't mind if I do." Aster replies, sounding more confident than he felt. He settles into some overstuffed monstrosity, made of ebony velvet and gold thread. It is surprisingly comfortable.

Pitchiner keeps to his feet. Aster thinks he enjoys towering over him. Decked out in his black robe, he appears to blend in with the darkly colored furniture. Save for his eyes, twin pinpricks of color that no sweet smile could ever blunt. Aster tries to shake off the feeling of dissection. A regular Boogieman, this Kozmotis Pitchiner.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Pitchiner asks.

"'Course, tea sounds brilliant." Aster nods.

But Pitchiner shakes his head and curiously, begins to pace. "No, no. I'm afraid we're all out of tea."

"Huh?"

"Would you like coffee instead?"

"Uh, okay?"

"No, no, no. We're out of coffee too."

"Wha - ?"

Pitchiner pauses his pacing, holding up a forefinger. He smirks. "I know. We shall have gin. Would you like gin, Mr. Rabbit?"

"The name's Bunnymund, actually. And isn't it a little, I don't know, early for liquor?"

"Balderdash." Pitchiner waves his hand, rushing off to a nearby cabinet. He begins pulling out an assortment of bottles. "I trust you are of legal drinking age, Mr. Rabbit?"

"Listen, Pitchiner. It's Bunnymund. And yeah, been legal for nine years this April."

Pitchiner stills, fingers wrapped around a bottle. And if his knuckles bleed white, if his hands curl to fists, Aster pretends not to notice.

"Nine years?" Pitchiner echoes. "But that would make you..."

"Thirty?" Aster finishes with a jerk of his head. "Sure am."

Pitchiner whips his head around and there is murder in his eyes. Aster can see it plain as day. He swears Pitchiner would've gutted him right there and left him to drain dry. But as sudden as it starts, Pitchiner returns to unloading his liquor stock.

"Very good." He mutters crisply, almost slamming the bottles down. "Do you have any preferences? I have rum, whiskey, vodka - take your pick. I, for one, desire scotch."

"Ya know what," Aster sighs, clapping his hands to his thighs. "Anythin's fine."

"I see." Pitchiner hums. He readies the decanter and sets the glasses on a tray. There's a pop of a cork pulled before the wet sound of running liquor.

"I always thought you'd have help for this sorta thing." Aster comments offhandedly.

"Oh, but I do. They are night maids. I have alloted their shifts to the evenings. I never have guests in the mornings, you see?" Pitchiner returns, setting the tray on a nearby coffee table. He still abstains from sitting. "Yet you are a special case, very special indeed."

"Ah, well..." Aster fumbles for a reply. "I'm honored?"

"Oh no. It is of little concern." Pitchiner reaches for his drink and raises it. "Cheers."

"Cheers." Aster repeats, grabbing his glass. He watches, rapidly blinking, as Pitchiner downs his alcohol in one swift gulp. The older man slaps the glass down and pours himself another drink. Aster furrows his brow. "Uh, arentcha drinkin' too fast? These ain't shots, ya know?"

Pitchiner stares at him flatly. "I am fully aware, thank you."

He downs his second drink quicker than the first. Aster shakes his head, puffing out a breath before raising his glass to his lips. He draws a mouthful.

"I understand you have romantic designs toward my son."

He splutters out a cough, trying not to spit out. "E-Excuse me?"

Pitchiner nurses his drink, half murmuring under his breath. "This is inevitable. He inherited his good looks from me, after all."

"You - You're jokin', right?"

Pitchiner snaps his head up. "Do I look to be in a jesting mood, Rabbit?"

"Okay, seriously. My name is Bunnymund. Bun-ny-mund. It ain't that hard. And I meant no offence. I just recall Jackie tellin' me he was adopted."

"Yes. He is a child of my heart, if not by blood. He is exceedingly dear to me, you understand?"

It isn't a question, implication heavy in the minute shift of Pitchiner's stance, the subtle lean forward. That is a threat if Aster ever heard one. He swallows loudly.

"Yeah, no. I got that."

The smile Pitchiner rewards him could put sharks to shame. "Good. Then you agree."

"Ah, agree with what?"

"That Jack is simply too young to pursue such intimate endeavours."

"Wait, wha - !"

"I know, I know. He is 18 and a man by rights. But he is my only son. I do dote on him so."

"No, okay, see - !"

"And you appear to be a fine, upstanding... fellow. Very robust. I know you would take good care of Jack."

"Yeah, I would - !"

"However, now is simply not the time. Do come back at a later date." Pitchiner's smile grows wider, deadlier. 

Aster blinks, scooting away just a touch. He wets his lips, fully aware he'll regret asking. 

"How much later are we talkin' here?" 

"Oh, not too long. Simply wait for me to keel over and die."

Mouth falling open, Aster is rendered speechless for all of a second. He recovers with a violent shake of his head, shooting to his feet. "Now wait just a bloody minute, ya pommie bastard!"

Pitchiner doesn't even flinch and quirks a perfectly trimmed brow. "Pardon me?"

"Yeah, you heard me. Ya prissy ponce, I knew you had it out for me."

"Why, I never!"

"You 'ave been givin' me hell since I first knocked on your door."

"I most certainly have not. I have been nothing but the - !"

" - most excellent host bullshit! Ya know, you are so full of crap, I can't believe you don't taste the shit you say."

The glass in Pitchiner's hand cracks. He leans forward till he's nose to nose with Aster. Squaring his shoulders, Aster holds Pitchiner's gaze. He refuses to let this condescending wanker walk all over him, Jackie's Da or no. 

"You want the truth, Mr. Bunnymund? Very well, you shall have it." Pitchiner whispers, quiet as the graveyard wind and just as cold. "You are nothing more than an unwashed, uneducated, worthless mongrel. You are unfit to lick the mud off my boots and you are most certainly unfit for my son's attentions."

"Oh. Oho! That is it!" Aster rocks back into his fighting stance. Fists at the ready, he hops on the balls of his feet. "C'mon, put 'em up, ya pommie bastard. Put 'em up!"

Pitchiner does no such thing. His glare merely sharpens to a scapel-steel and fang. A hand reaches into his robe.

Aster freezes, a bunny caught in the crosshair's of a hunter's rifle. Literally. Oh shit, he thinks, ohshitohshitohshitshitshitbloodytittyfuckingshit. Pitchiner has a gun. There is a revolver in his robe. He's about to be shot. Jesus fucking Christ, he is about to be shot.

"What the hell is going on here?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get stupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what Pitch looks like:
> 
> [Here](http://pitch-king-of-nightmares.tumblr.com/post/40870710206/noconstipationplz-came-with-a-suggestion-of)
> 
>  
> 
> I could not have imagined it any better. He will go to work like that, looking like he just stepped out of Rococo painting. No one dares to comment. Mostly because he fucking pulls it off.

Kozmotis palms the cellphone he keeps on his person at all times. He is a busy man, chief of operations to no small town business but Constellation Corporatons. The company has its fingers in many pies, from toymaking to dentistry to publishing, even to weaponry. He is aware of a few government contracts with certain Army departments, developing some sort of nightmare to unleash upon their opponents. It's a favorite amongs his pet projects. With so many irons in the fire, it is imperative he keeps his cellphone on hand.

Kozmotis sees this Bunnymund character, and he is perfectly aware of his name despite evidence to the contrary. He watches the ruffian move into an obviously aggressive stance, spouting bodily threats. He does what every sensible person would do. He prepares to call the police. The Pitchiner estate has security on the grounds at all times. It would take a mere five minutes before this E. Aster Bunnymund finds himself dragged kicking and screaming from their property. Alas, it was not to be, for none other than dear Jack rushes into the room.

Dear, precocious Jack. Such a blight to his existence, he is.

"What the hell is going on here?" His son all but yells.

"Language, young man." Kozmotis reprimands, removing his hand from his robe.

Jack ignores him as he is often wont to do. He affixes their guest with a questioning glance. "Buns, are you fighting with Pitch?"

Kozmotis scowls. "It's Papa, Jack. You must call me Papa."

At last, Jack slides his gaze over to him. There is a muted contempt in his frown. "Yeah... no."

"What is going on here?" Katherine chimes in, peeking out from behind Jack.

A surge of happines bursts in Kozmotis's chest. The emotion near embarasses him in its intensity. He finds he cannot be bothered to care and crosses the room in two swift strides. For if Jack is to be his bane, then Katherine is his balm. He throws his arms around his little girl, draping himself across her shoulder like a particularly bony shawl. 

"Oh Katherine, darling." He buries his face in her locks. "Your dear brother is so cruel to me."

"Seriously?" Jack groans. "You are so embarassing."

Kozmotis permits a pleased little smile before sobbing out. "You see! You see the slights I suffer?"

Katherine pats him on the back with a well-practiced gentleness that spoke of the countless times before. "There, there Father. I am sure Jack means no harm."

"I only wish to keep him safe." He nods. It is an honest reply, perhaps the most honest he's been this entire morning.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"Language!" Pitchiner snaps, nearly inaudible through the buffer of Katherine's hair.

"Will you please stop controlling my life?!" Jack snaps. 

Kozmotis hears stomping and removes himself from his daughter. He turns and watches with a wary gaze as Jack stalks over to Bunnymund. The brute has relaxed his fighting stance yet his hands stay fists at his side. There is a tightness about his form, muscles flexed and ever at the ready. He keeps an eye on Kozmotis, up until Jack nears him. Kozmotis finds it positively delightful. Bunnymund is scared.

"What took ya so long, Jackie?" He huffs.

Jack smiles sheepishly and runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry. We had an accident with the closet."

Bunnymund barks out a laugh. "The closet? Didn't I get you outta there awhile back?"

"You ass." Jack snorts, punching Bunnymund on the arm. "You know that's not what I meant."

Kozmotis watches the exchange with a keen eye, picking out all the tiny details. He notes the tension slipping from the cur's stance. His fists bloom open, all signs of prior distress melting away. Kozmotis catches the casual touching. Jack runs his knuckles down Bunnymund's biceps. The tramp sets his hands on the slope of Jack's waist. They can't seem to stop touching each other, rubbing here and petting there. But, Kozmotis observes, they can't stop smiling either, lips settled in a happy curve. They appear to forget the world around them, utterly at home in each other's company.

"When was the last time you witnessed Jack truly happy?" Katherine politely inquires.

Kozmotis scoffs. "Yesterday, when we visited the ice cream parlor."

Katherine heaves a deep sigh. "Father, please."

He grits his teeth and crosses his arms. He know the truth his daughter desires. The truth is never. He's never seen Jack truly happy. Ever since he first met the boy, not four years back but eight. He had been around Katherine's age then, a forgotten little waif in the corner of Lunanoff's office. He hadn't cried but the twist of his mouth was no smile. And now, here Jack is. The truth is, Kozmotis has never seen Jack like this. It isn't happiness but bliss.

A tiny coil of envy plants somewhere in his chest.

"They're in love." Katherine persists.

"Bah, nothing but childish infatuation and hormones." Kozmotis wrinkles his nose.

Katherine gifts him with a withering glare. Kozmotis takes a quiet moment to marvel how much she resembled her mother.

"I can't believe you ditched me with yer Da."

Kozmotis blinks free of his musings, hearing Bunnymund mutter beneath his breath. He returns his attentions to the couple before him, still delicately entwined. He scowls.

"Aww, c'mon. It wasn't that bad, was it?" Jack teases, flicking Bunnymund's nose.

"Yes." The thug replies glibly, batting away Jack's fingers.

"Poor baby." Jack coos, a hint of laughter in his tone. "Want me to kiss it better?"

"Maybe I do." Bunnymund returns with a callous smirk.

Kozmotis finds his brows flying up as Katherine giggles. A spark of anger bursts a vein at his temple, and he sees red. Before his daughter could stop him, he marches forward, approaching his son. 

"Jackson." He hisses through clenched teeth.

The couple stiffens as if struck by lightning. Kozmotis relishes a curl of satisfaction.

Jack mechanically turns to face him, wearing a pieced together expression of panic, anger, and apprehension. "Yes, Pitch?"

"It's Papa." Kozmotis clears his throat. "I would appreciate it if you refrained from displaying such impropriety, especially before your sister."

"Father, it's fine." Katherine protests behind him.

"Alright." Bunnymund agrees amiably. But there is something in the corners of his smirk, something more of a sneer. "Jack an' I can take it somewhere else, can't we Jackie?"

A look of blank puzzlement flits across his son's expression before understanding dawns with a matching smirk. "Oh, yeah. The park's good around this time. Not too hot, not too many people..."

Plenty of bushes to hide behind. Jack doesn't say it but Kozmotis knows the boy well enough to suspect he is thinking it. He starts to object when a warm hand settles on his arm. The touch stutters his tongue and he glances down to find Katherine smiling serenely beside him. She looks to her brother and grants him the slightest of nods.

"The park sounds perfect." She chirps her consent.

Jack beams something wonderful, something that reminds Kozmotis of fresh blankets of snow, gleaming untouched in the early morning light. It is pure in its joy. Kozmotis finds his throat unnaturally parched, a thousand words stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Great! We better get goin' then." Bunnymund nods. He claps his hands together and performs a shallow bow, winking at Katherine. "Nice ta meet ya, lil' Shiela. You must be the Katherine I heard so much about.

"That I am." Katherine smiles and daintily curtsies. "It is a pleasure to meet at last. Jack has regaled me with many of your tales." 

"Only the good ones, I hope." Bunnymund chuckles.

Jack rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "Alright, alright Romeo. Put away that charm before you blind someone."

"Jealous, Jackie?" Bunnymund wags his eyebrows.

"In your dreams, Buns." Jack turns up his nose, sauntering away. "C'mon, the park's gonna fill up."

Kozmotis swallows, stepping between Jack and Bunnymund. He finds his voice. "I have yet to allow this excursion."

Katherine purses her lips, looking thoroughly displeased. Bunnymund starts, tension winding down his spine.

Jack sighs, turning around. "Really, Pitch?"

Kozmotis whirls to face him. "Is my apprehension so preposterous? Am I suppose to let some veritable stranger traipse into my home and whisk my son away? I am your father - !"

"You are not my father!" Jack roars back.

His outburst echoes in the parlour's still, stale air. A loud silence follows. No one speaks, no one moves. Kozmotis feels his breath catch, a knot of air pressing against his lungs as hurt burns behind his eyes, in the closed clench of his fist. He shuts away his gaze and shoulders past Jack, his footsteps quick and light.

"No. Look. I didn't - I didn't mean that." Jack wheezes out, grabbing a hold of his robe.

"Oh, but I think you did." Kozmotis murmurs, head bowed. He shakes off Jack's grip and leaves the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack watches Pitch leave and feels like a total shitheel. He is the dick extraordinare. It's him. Everyone else can go home.

Running a hand through his hair, he swallows loudly. "So, on a scale of one to ten, how much did I mess this up?"

"Twenty." Katherine states flatly.

Jack winces. "Yeah, okay. That's fair."

"Well, go on then." Katherine presses.

He blinks, turning to face her. "Uh, what?"

"Go after him. Apologize."

He has the decency to look cowed, hunching his shoulders and curling into himself. "What, you mean like, right this second?"

If severe disappointment had a face, it would wear Katherine's expression. She crosses her arms. "Now, Jackson."

Jack grimaces at the use of his full name. "Yeah, but..."

Trailing off, he glances at Aster, looking for all the world like an abandoned kitten. Aster shakes his head and chuckles lightly. He strides over to Jack and in one seamless move, he gathers Jack into his arms.

Jack freezes. His thoughts careen to an abrupt and violent stop. His world narrows down to the thick, corded arms coiled around his shoulders, the heavy musky mix of dry summer heat and weather-worn leather, and warmth. Because he's waited for this. He's waited for this since their first skype chat. He's burned with a bone-aching need to hold this snarky, stuffy, infuriatingly charming man. And three years ago, if someone told Jack he'd yearn for his tumblr rival, springfever68, he'd haul them to the loony bin himself. But here he is now, one tentative trolling truce and 300 pages worth of IMs later, happily in love with E. Aster Bunnymund. And sweet lord, he has waited to have Aster like this, wrapped around him like some kind of muscle-ridden blanket. All the prior touches were light and tentative compared to Aster holding him. But it really, really isn't the best time.

"Aster - !" Jack starts, moving to push him away.

Aster cuts him off and holds Jack even closer. "Naw, I think we need to set some things straight, you and I."

"W - We do?"

"Yeah. Look here, Jackie." He pulls away a little, a hand gently grabbing hold of Jack's chin. "I'm not goin' anywhere. So don't look at me like I'm just gonna disappear at any moment. I traveled leagues ta meet ya. I ain't about to get spooked just 'cause you and your old man had a bit of a barney. I promise, Frostbite, I will be right here. I won't leave ya, Jack, not you - never you."

Jack squeezes his eyes shut and rests his head on the hollow of Aster's throat. Aster plants his chin on Jack's hair. And for one breath of a pulse, when Jack swears time stood still, they stayed like that, bundled up in each other's skin, more one person than two.

"I hate..." Jack huffs, murmuring into Aster's collarbone. "I hate how you always know exactly what to say."

"Only with you, Jack, only with you." Aster laughs dryly and slowly, carefully, inch by inch, he lets go. "Go on then, talk to yer Da. I've waited ages for ya, I can wait a little longer."

Jack wants nothing more than to kiss Aster then, right on the lips. And call him a romantic, but he wants that first kiss to be special, not mired in the dysfunction of his foster family. So he moves away, jerking his head in a nod. He draws a long, shuddering breath.

"Yeah, okay."

"If I may interupt?" Katherine chimes in.

Jack bites back a shout. He completely forgot Katherine is right there, in the room, with them. Aster has the annoying ability to render him blind to everything that isn't him. He puffs out a breath and looks to his sister.

"Yeah, Kit-kat?"

Katherine smiles, appearing unconcerned with being forgotten. "If Mr. Bunnymund would like, we have some scones in the kitchen. We can eat and wait there while you finish up with Father."

"That sounds bloody brilliant, lil' Shiela." Aster grins. "But please, call me Aster. Mr. Bunnymund was my Da, bless his stuck up soul."

"Very well, Aster. If you would follow me this way?"

Glancing at Jack one last time, Aster mouths the words 'good luck' before following Katherine to the kitchen. Jack watches them disappear around the corner, feeling the house grow larger and lonelier around him. It reminds him too much of his childhood home, not the best of memories to dredge up. He sighs and heads out, starting the long, silent trek upstairs.

It is a big house, around twenty four rooms last time he counted. There's a lot of places Pitch could hide in but only one place he would. Stopping before an ornately decorated door, already half-way open, Jack takes a moment to steel himself and enters Pitch's private library.

He finds Pitch, a sharp scar of a silhoutte facing the library's only window. He sucks in a breath.

"Hey, can we talk?"

Pitch remains perfectly still, refusing to face Jack. "You ask as if I can stop you."

"There you go again, making things needlessly complicated." Jack scowls, rolling his eyes.

"But I can't, can I?" Pitch whips around, finally facing Jack. "It's true. You were always your own person. You followed the beat of your own drum. Damn anyone else."

"Yeah, okay. Granted."

"I should've known my input was not wanted."

"Now that's just not true."

"Is it really?"

"Look!" Jack cries with a punctuated stomp of his foot. "Will you stop trying to pick fights and just listen to me?! For once in your miserable life, just shut up! This is important and I need you to listen!"

Pitch's face contorts to an expression of unabashed fury. He draws himself to his full height and takes a menacing step forwards. But Jack refuses to back down. Squaring his shoulders, he looks Pitch in the eye, staring him down. Pitch pulls his lips apart, with all the intention to speak, yet his jaw remained firmly shut. He ends up baring his teeth and speaking not a word. A conflict of emotions flit across his face before finally, he nods for Jack to continue.

Jack briefly closes his eyes, and heaves a steadying breath. Wetting his lips, he straightens his stance, opening his eyes and settling his gaze on Pitch.

"I do. I mean, I do want your blessing or whatever it is. You don't even know how much."

Pitch quirks a skeptic brow but keeps his silence.

Jack swallows and presses on. "I don't want you gone from my life. I just - stop with the over-protective, micro-managing bullshit. That's all."

Pitch tilts his head and Jack can no longer look at him, lowering his gaze.

"I don't call you Papa because I don't need you to be Papa. I don't want you to be Papa. My Papa was a dick. He never said a word to me. He was always gone. The one time he talked to me, the only time - it was during the accident. He just called my name. Jack. Jack Frost. Then nothing. I mean, what - how am I supposed to - to deal with that? It wasn't a good-bye or an apology, not even - not an 'I love you'. He never, not once in all my life, he never told me that.

So you're not Papa. You're Pitch. You're that one creepy guy who stayed behind when everyone else left. You're the guy who saw me when everyone just ignored me. You're the guy who gave me black licorice that tasted so god-awful I couldn't get rid of the taste for days. You're that guy, the only one who gave a damn about the boy curled up in the corner. You're Pitch. My Pitch.

But you're not Papa. You're never Papa. Papa was a dickbag and I hate him. But... I don't - I don't hate you. So you can't be Papa. I already had one of those and it didn't work out. But you are Pitch and you're the only Pitch I've got."

There's silence, long and drawn out, like a rubber band being stretched. And just as Jack thinks it's going to snap - he's going to snap. Pitch moves. 

Twin hands clasp around Jack's shoulders, thumb brushing up the sides of his neck. It's not quite a hug, but it's a start. It's Pitch listening and trying - to understand, to help, to care. Even though, they both know they're completely hopeless at sincere displays of affection. Because they're emotional retards like that. But they try.

And it's a start.

Jack finally lifts his gaze and looks at Pitch again. "I really, really, ridiculously like him. Please don't - don't ruin this for me."

"I will make a valiant effort." Pitch nods slowly.

One small step at a time.

Jack replies with a hesistant smile. "You did by the way."

"Did what?" Pitch asks, blinking inquisitively.

"Allow this excursion. In the kitchen, remember? We were talking? You gave me leave to go on the date."

"Ah. So I did."

"You're not backing out of that, are you?"

"Yes, but that would make a liar of me, now wouldn't it?"

"Wouldn't want that."

"No. We would not." Pitch smiles wryly, rubbing his thumbs into the crook of Jack's neck before letting go. "Very well. Go to the park or wherever you will. You've left your paramour waiting long enough."

"Oh man, I know." Jack snorts, heading for the door. He grabs a hold of the knob and pauses, looking back at Pitch. "Thanks, Pitch. Again."

Pitch shakes his head. "My actions are hardly worth your gratitude."

"No. I mean, for taking me in. You didn't have to, but you did anyways. So, uh, thanks really."

Shock colors Pitch's expression for all of a second before he regains his composure. He smirks. "You do realize 'again' implies you've thanked me before."

"I did. I mean, I have. I just - I never showed it well. I'll work on that." Jack grins sheepishly and pulls open the door. 

He gives Pitch a jaunty salute and leaves the library, dashing down the dimly lit hall. He feels light, weightless even, like he could kick up his feet and fly away. His heart pumps a heated samba beat and a shout rattles in his throat. He slides down the bannister and laughs all the way down.

Bursting into the kitchen, he finds Katherine and Aster standing by the counter, nibbling on their scones. Aster is the first to notice him, his ear twitching at the sound of Jack's entrance. He looks up from Katherine and a smile blooms on his lips, flashing his dimples. Jack's self control snaps with an audible twang. He launches himself at Aster, twining his arms around the man's neck and pressing close till there's nothing but the fibers of their clothes between them. And even then, Jack thinks, they're still too far apart.

There's a sound of a pastry crashing to the floor and Aster opens his mouth to scold him. But Jack darts his head forwards, catching those lips before a single sound spills out. He tastes the apple sweetness of the scone Aster just ate. But there's something more, something bitter and sharp, like unsweetened cocoa, that crackles along Jack's tongue. It's a taste inherently Aster's and Jack thinks, he may just get addicted.

There's a flash of a camera.

Jack starts and pulls away from the kiss to stare at the culprit. Katherine grins triumphantly, a slim digital camera clutched in her hands. Jack narrows his eyes as a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"How long have you been carrying that around?"

"Since I woke up." Katherine replies, preening. "You'll thank me later. You'll see."

"I dunno... What do you think, Buns?" Jack rolls his eyes, turning to Aster. He bursts outlaughing at the shell-shocked, gobsmacked expression carved into his face. "You okay there, Kangaroo?"

That snaps Aster out of his stupor. He scowls at Jack. "It's Bunnymund. And a little warning next time."

Jack just smiles wider. "You liked it."

"Never said I didn't." Aster growls in the deepest note he can.

He leans in for another kiss and Jack meets him halfway. It's softer than the first, with no urgency or hunger, a featherlight peck of two mouths pressing together. They end it all too quickly.

Jack smirks and bites his lip. There's a twinkle in his eye that hints at something obscene.

"Well Buns, I do believe I owe you a date."

Aster replies with a smirk of his own, nodding his head down till their noses brushed together.

"That you do, Frost, that you do."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The distance between Melbourne and Burgess is 17424 km.

The morning begins with a screeching alarm and a two-worded text. Aster reaches for the phone first. The sun streams through the blinds and splays across his smile. He hits the snooze button and texts back.

_evenin, jackie_

He's brushing his teeth when the phone buzzes. Aster gargles, spits, and checks his inbox. A laugh darts out his throat. He shakes his head and thumbs the keys.

_you're horrible, frostbite_

Coffee follows, with two slices of toast and a healthy spread of jam. His left hand nurses the heated mug. His right hand fiddles with the phone. Steam curls about the curve of his lips and warmth collects in the corner of his eyes. Aster types out an eight-lettered reply, his last before work.

The phone buzzes with the echo of a kiss.

_The distance between Melbourne and Burgess is 17424 km._

There is a chocolate shoppe tucked in the folds of Melbourne, in the sigh of a sleepy street. It is famous for its handmade chocolates, crafted from well kept, family recipes. Ever since his old man died, bless his stuck up soul, Aster worked as its shopkeeper.

Mrs. Brandybuck visits with her usual order.

"Oh Aster, dear. When will you settle down? The clock is ticking, you know."

Aster plasters on his storefront smile and rings up her purchases.

"Come again soon, Mrs. Brandybuck."

_The trip would take 30 hours by plane, 20 months by boat, and 6 years on foot._

The early hours are spent in relative silence. Aster boots up his laptop and checks his email. There are several messages marked urgent, all sent by jokullfrosti1712@hotmail.com, all links to cute cat videos. Yesterday, it had been puppies. He shakes his head.

A high school boy waxes poetic about a girl in his class. He drapes himself over the counter, peering through the glass. She's got sun-kissed skin, feather-soft hair, and a smile that lights up her eyes.

"You know what I'm talking about right, mate?"

Aster thinks of shaky webcam feeds and laughter like whispering ice. He nods. Yeah, he knows.

Aster used to be a nature photographer. He went everywhere, roaring down the outback and stomping through the bush. His travels flung him far and away, past the horizon and the sunsetting sea. He lived fast and free with only the open road for company. Or he used to.

His old man's passing dragged him back home. He hung up his rucksack and kicked off his boots. His boomerang locked in duct tape and carboard. His camera sold for a month's worth of food. He planted his feet in the carpets of his flat, staring at white-washed walls. He spent the night drinking.

_A ticket would cost $1500._

Aster whistles a jaunty tune, inspecting his newest batch of bonbons. A couple passes by the shop window. He watches them out the corner of his eyes. Contentment curls along their lips, shoulders kissing with every step. Their pinkies peek out of sweater sleeves and twine together. The boy laughs and points. The girl turns to look. He pitches forward, pressing his smile to skin.

The phone buzzes.

_Aster only has $1000 saved._

The first week was rough. There was an itch in his bones and a fire in his veins. He had too much time and too little sky. The rest scraped away by the city's concrete claws. Aster wanted out.

Relief arrived the following week. His old man's mate, Ombric stopped by for a visit. He brought a student of his, William. Aster told them business was fine. The shoppe was a local favorite. But William thought it could use more advertisement. He suggested a web page and offered his expertise.

The side project introduced Aster to the internet. He got a crash course on social media. It gave him a blinding headache. He hadn't touched technology in years. The most hi-tech he got was his camera. But he had to admit, the internet was a sight useful and bloody addicting.

He ignored Facebook and Twitter. He never cared for anyone's businness and didn't want anyone prying into his. He liked his privacy, thanks very much. But he liked Youtube and Tumblr alright, mostly for the the fluffy kitten videos. He was a sucker for anything adorable. William set him up with a Tumblr account and insisted on making a food gif set. He thought it would be great publicity for the shoppe. He filmed Aster making his old man's famous E. Aster Eggs, bonbons shaped like eggs with a delicately painted shell.

It started with a snowflake icon and eight words.

jokullfrosti1712 reblogged your photo: E. Aster Eggs  
oi dipshit thats not how you spell easter

There was a bitchfight of epic proportions.

North bursts into his shoppe seconds before closing time. The wanker. They met at a nearby pub and sparked a small hockey riot. They spent the night in a jail cell. North hasn't left him alone since. He seems to think they are the best of friends. Aster got tired of correcting him.

"You look tired, comrade."

"Yeah. It's the Valentine rush, you know?"

"Ah, but that is not for customer."

North nods at the bonbon in Aster's hand. Its milk chocolate shell decorated with exceedingly fragile snowflakes. North flashes him a knowing smirk, eyes twinkling with laughter. Aster tries not to punch him.

_The distance between Melbourne and Burgess is 17424 km._

A month passed before Aster could properly notice. Business boomed from the new advertising. His days were busier, crazier, and Aster enjoyed every second. Running the shoppe came with its tiny, infinitely fleeting delights. Treasures tucked in little girls and their warm, open eyes, in knobby kneed lovers with hope in their sighs. Aster relished these sun-filled shop hours.

But the nights grew darker, colder. His sole saving grace was a secondhand laptop and an all too familiar username. Every time Aster logged on, there would be another reply, another comeback, another snappy retort. He got a good laugh out of a few. jokullfrosti1712 had a decent sense of humor, for an absolute bastard.

Their everyday squabbling passed the long, dull hours between work. It distracted Aster from the hollow silence of his flat. They would bicker or quibble or tease or banter. On and on, it went. They were too proud to loose, too stubborn to surrender. Their snarking hijacked the rest of Tumblr. The moderators threatened to ban them.

"So, I have been thinking."

"There's a bad sign."

"I go back to States in three weeks."

"Finally."

"You should come with me."

"What? Why?"

"Your sweetheart is in New York, yes?"

"Look, mate. That's real kind of ya. But I don't take charity. So thanks, but no thanks."

_The distance between Melbourne and Burgess crosses an ocean and a continent._

It started with a trolling truce and a skype chat. It started with a proper conversation riddled by memes. It started with the sun spilling across the screen and Aster realizing he spent the whole night talking to jokullfrosti1712. It started with a name.

[10:31:07 PM] jokullfrosti1712: its jack  
[10:31:17 PM] jokullfrosti1712: jack frost  
[6:31:57 AM] springfever68: like the fairytale chap?  
[10:32:10 PM] jokullfrosti1712: yes  
[10:32:15 PM] jokullfrosti1712: shut up  
[6:32:45 AM] springfever68: i didn't say anything  
[10:33:00 PM] jokullfrosti1712: you were thinking it  
[6:33:12 AM] springfever68: u mad, frostbite  
[10:33:25 PM] jokullfrosti1712: frostbite  
[10:33:30 PM] jokullfrosti1712: really  
[10:33:40 PM] jokullfrosti1712: is that gonna be a thing now  
[6:34:20 AM] springfever68: you mean, if we keep in touch?  
[6:35:00 PM] jokullfrosti1712: are we

The bloke had a habit of forgetting his punctuations. But Aster saw the question mark just fine. He paused in his typing. He thought about replies and responses greeting him after work. He thought about sniping and snarking and laughter stolen from his lips. He thought about his blood burning, the calm chafing, the walls closing in, when a new reblog, a new post, a new nuisance saved him from his skin. He thought of home curled in the space between letters.

In the early morning light, Aster decided peace felt too empty.

[6:37:25 AM] springfever68: yeah, frostbite, we are. and yeah, that's gonna be a thing.  
[10:37:35 PM] jokullfrosti1712: man screw you

_The distance between Melbourne and Burgess crosses 9 time zones._

"Shostakovich!" North grabs a hold of Aster's shoulders, giving him a good shake. "It is not charity. It is friendship! You can pay for return ticket, whatever makes you happy. But oh holy night, Aster! Do not waste oppurtunity because of foolish pride!"

The name gained a voice. The voice got a face. The face grew a smile. The smile woke Aster every morning, hidden in two worded texts.

Aster learned of Jack's penchant for ice sculptures. Jack learned of Aster's weakness for baby animals. Aster shared his daily details and everyday mishaps. He talked about schoolboys with their pockets full of pennies, about flirty housewives with their corny pickup lines, about old married couples with their time-withered hands clasped together. Jack shared his mundane moments and hush-a-bye hours. He sent snapshots of a new hairtsyle (washed white and windswept), of his finished projects (silk-smooth flowers carved from ice), of the first snowfall and the view from his window (the kiss of his breath against the frosted glass). Byte by byte, they shared their lives, curling in the corners of minutes, hiding in the silence of seconds. And in between beer cans and coffee cups, in between dreaming awake and slurring out secrets, in the eternity between replies, Aster fell in love.

He fell before the flickering screen and the empty chat box. He fell for the buzzing phone and the messages in his inbox. He fell on friday nights, in the five hour video calls lasting till sunrise. He fell in love the way hands bloomed open. Naked palms outstretched and hungry. Starlit wishes held in the unfurling fingers.

_The distance between Melbourne and Burgess is 17424 km._

[12:45:25 AM] springfever68: did you get my package  
[8:45:35 AM] jokullfrosti1712: oh i got your package alright  
[8:45:43 AM] jokullfrosti1712: i gotta say its bigger than i thought  
[12:45:50 AM] springfever68: you are incorrigible  
[8:45:56 AM] jokullfrosti1712: i will take that as a compliment  
[12:46:01 AM] springfever68: but no really  
[8:46:08 AM] jokullfrosti1712: chill bunnyfoofoo i got it  
[12:46:20 AM] springfever68: so what'd you think?  
[8:46:25 AM] jokullfrosti1712: its not bad  
[8:46:29 AM] jokullfrosti1712: not bad at all  
[12:46:39 AM] springfever68: you loved it  
[8:46:44 AM] jokullfrosti1712: heh never said i didnt ;)  
[12:46:50 AM] springfever68: rolling my eyes, frost  
[8:46:54 AM] jokullfrosti1712: seriously tho  
[8:46:54 AM] jokullfrosti1712: thanks  
[12:47:00 AM] springfever68: happy valentines, jackie  
[8:47:03 AM] jokullfrosti1712: happy vday buns  
[12:48:33 AM] springfever68: so, uh, you busy on the 5th?  
[8:48:37 AM] jokullfrosti1712: of march  
[12:48:40 AM] springfever68: no, april  
[8:48:45 AM] jokullfrosti1712: dunno  
[8:48:47 AM] jokullfrosti1712: probably not  
[8:48:47 AM] jokullfrosti1712: why  
[12:48:59 AM] springfever68: i got a friend going over to the states. he said i could tag along for the ride  
[8:49:08 AM] jokullfrosti1712: no way  
[12:51:25 AM] springfever68: so i mean, if you want to. we could go on a date, maybe?  
[12:51:28 AM] springfever68: no pressure or anything  
[12:54:45 AM] springfever68: it's just i keep seeing all these couples. they come into my shoppe, all kissing and cuddling, sweeter than the goddamn chocolate. and i never bought into that sappy froo froo bunk hollywood tries to pass for romance. but fuck, if i dont think about you and about us whenever i see them lovebirds or whenever i hear some two bit love song.  
[12:54:48 AM] springfever68: and bloody hell, i love you  
[12:54:55 AM] springfever68: i love you so much it drives me bonkers  
[12:54:55 AM] springfever68: and  
[12:56:10 AM] springfever68: and please feel free to shut me up

Aster pushes himself away from the keyboard. A shiver dances on his skin as he stares half dazed at the words, screaming internally. The seconds trickle by, each more painful than the last. The skype icon blinks.

[9:00:07 AM] jokullfrosti1712: if i could  
[9:00:20 AM] jokullfrosti1712: i would push you up against the wall and kiss you senseless  
[9:00:25 AM] jokullfrosti1712: so hurry up and get your butt here  
[9:00:26 AM] jokullfrosti1712: now

A hoarse laugh bubbles out of his chest. He melts open the way winter melts to spring, quietly and violently. Aster shakes his head.

[1:00:50 AM] springfever68: it's a date, frostbite

_The distance between Aster and Jack is 0._


End file.
